


Domestic Points

by Dana



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, domestic fluff for the most part, whumped!Gene and caretaker!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-03-06 10:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3131729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Remind me again why I'm letting this happen.' // 'Because the barber doesn't do house calls.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domestic Points

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xysabridde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xysabridde/gifts).



> Birthday present (originally posted on the **lifein1973** LJ community November 12th, 2014) for the ever wonderful **xysabridde**. ♥

Gene sighs. Frowns, his reflection frowning right back at him, Sam at his back and the counter top and cabinets looming in the distance. 'Remind me again why I'm letting this happen.'

Sam sighs as well, huffs on a pathetically small laugh, standing at Gene's back as he runs a comb through his hair. 'Because the barber doesn't do house calls.' Isn't that the bloody truth, and such an awful realisation on top of it all, or else he'd have that man here instead of his DI – as far as he can tell, Sam certainly doesn't know heads or tails about keeping his hair maintained, giving the state of the short-cut stuff.

'Yes, I know that, you sodding nonce. How is it you convinced me you can handle a pair of scissors, Gladys? That mess on top of your head bloody well says otherwise.'

And yet, here they are – sitting in the kitchen, Gene's long bedroom mirror stood in front of them, both of their reflections staring back. Sam looks relaxed enough, not in his jacket, sleeves rolled up – not that Gene has a clear look at the whole of his shirt, but he has a good enough view of the one extra button that's undone, the prick's that at ease.

Gene, on the other hand, looks rather less put together. Maybe it's the fact that his hair's gone a bit shaggy, he really needs the trim. Maybe it's the bruising on his cheek, mostly dark, at his forehead, the fact his left arm is in a sling, the fact that his right leg is in a plaster. Suppose it could just be a little of that all, and all mixed together. Just that specific mix of miserable, all and all. He's aching enough, might just need to top up on his painkillers – but, needing to make some sort of point about being a man, he knows he'll keep that thought to himself. His leg's feeling a bit itchy beneath the plaster, and besides that and the aching, well, and the fact that he's letting Sam have a go at his hair, it's all just one step on the wrong side of awful.

Sam's smiling now, staring down at the crown of Gene's hair, runs the comb through it a few more times before setting it aside 'Because I don't trim my own hair, Guv – I have other things to do with my time.'

Gene snorts, scowls, stares at Sam's reflection. 'Like what, collate files?'

'Yes, exactly that.' Sam rolls his eyes, grinning as he shakes his head. The scissors are on the kitchen table, he snatches them up in one smooth, fluid motion, looks up to stare at the mirror, meeting Gene's gaze head on. 'Quiet now and let me concentrate, unless you want me to make a wreck of your hair.'

Oh, his gaze narrows at that, Sam's slipping away, focusing on the task at hand. 'You chop off too much of my mane, I'll bloody well teach you a lesson, Sam – one you'll not soon forget.' It must sound a bit lame – he's a sodding invalid right now, after all. Suppose he could always just give Sam a thorough beating with his crutches. That would teach him a thing or two.

Sam shakes his head minutely, the scissors still setting a steady pace as they go at Gene's hair, snip, snip, snip, but all the action's out of sight, with Gene left in the dark. Sam gives a little sigh, nearly sounds like a laugh. 'Right, of course. I'm sure it involves your foot and my jacksie.'

Well, not that exactly – but close enough. 'I do have you rather well-trained.' Makes him feel smug, it does. Can't help it, really.

Sam doesn't look up, but Gene can see enough of his face, just how bloody amused he is now, the wide spread sliver of his lips. 'Shut up.'

Gene huffs, scowls, tucks his good arm – gently, of course – beneath the bad, safe beneath the sling. 'Don't wanna.'

'If you want me to concentrate on not butchering your _mane_ , you really need to shut your mouth – Guv.' He gives a little sigh at that, keeps on snipping. 'Are you always this bloody grouchy when you're in pain and also in need of a hair cut? Of course you are. Forget I even asked.' He stops, sets the scissors aside, picks up the comb, runs it through Gene's hair a few time more times, looking from his head to their shared reflection, not once, or twice, but three times instead.

The comb gets set to the side, forgotten for the time being. Gene snorts as he chuckles, _glares_. 'I forget a lot of things you say. Happily.'

Sam doesn't sigh, or shake his head, or, well... do much of anything, actually. 'Of course you do.' Just picks the scissors back up, pausing, runs the fingers of one hand up and then back down through Gene's hair, nails lightly dragging against his scalp.

Gene shivers, clenches his jaw while that pleasant little frisson of sensation ripples and then fades on out. How is it he never gets tired of Sam's touch? 'Glad you understand.'

'Why wouldn't I?' He's got a smug little smirk on his lips now, the prick. He's gone back to snipping at Gene's hair, tilting his head this way and that to get better access. Gene, not wanting his hair to end up being butchered – and having to find himself a new DI after he rearranges Sam's face because of it – lets him push him about as needed. 'Constantly nattering on.'

'You... wait.' Gene stops, thinks about it, scowls, gaze flicking back to Sam's reflection. 'You're just humouring me. Prick.'

Wide eyed innocence, what a bloody awful actor he is. 'Ahhh, wouldn't go that far, Guv – come on, keep your head tilted back. We'll be done with this in a jiffy.'

Still scowling, like there's a point that needs to be made, Gene does keep his head tilted back, feels the sensation of the comb running through his hair, hears the thoughtful little noises as Sam shifts the scissors about, snips here, snips there. He rolls his eyes back slightly, tips his scowl upwards. That'd best not be mould in the corner.

Really though, it's almost nice... maybe Sam doesn't leap about at his every slightest whim, but where would the fun be in that? Gene knows they both appreciate the fighting, it's one good reason to wind down, though they've better ones as well – the sort that involve a whole lot less hitting, rather more moaning instead. Each release works in its own way, helps them rebalance themselves, to work things out that would otherwise go unsettled. Oh, and helps him remind Sam who's boss. All in all, it works out just right.

The scissors stop, Sam leaning down, close, brushing a kiss against Gene's cheek, another one at the corner of his eye. Their gazes meet in the mirror, and Sam gives a little smile, that and another little kiss. He's done a lot of smiling today, but this one is different – a bit more soft, slightly more sad, and somehow those two little details make it seem so much more real.

'Bet your plonk does it for you, doesn't she?'

Sam blinks, stands up straight, grabs the comb back up as he sets the scissors down. 'What? Why are you mentioning Annie?' He's started running it back through Gene's hair again, making little tutting noises from time to time. Just like Sam himself, the mood as a whole has rather unsubtly shifted about.

So Gene, seeing as he's stuck in a chair – and as much as he could be tempted to storm off in a huff, crutches and all, he'd rather not do it with lopsided hair. He does have a few standards he always needs to stick to, after all. 'Sure she's the one who trims your hair.'

A heavy sigh, comb back to the tabletop, scissors in his hand again. 'She's not – I go out and get it done by a professional. Like most sane, normal people do.'

'Right, of course,' he even goes so far as to roll his eyes, only then really _getting_ what Sam had said. 'Oi.'

The faintest flicker of a grin, Sam not quite looking up completely, hardly a clear view of his face. His attention is absolutely rooted to the back of Gene's head, which should be the focus of his work. Seems like an eternity since he'd heard the scissors going at it. 'Not that I think you're... well, you're pretty damn abnormal, but I'm mostly used to it now. But you are, more or less, relatively sane.' Sam's hand, his thumb in specific, is stroking at Gene's neck, up and down, back and again, and even that slight touch is distractingly pleasant, slow and steady as it is.

So much, in fact, Gene finds it hard to open his mouth and just _talk_ , the words stuck somewhere between his head and his heart – not that he'd ever admit out loud to that sort of obnoxious, pansy thing. 'You're the lunatic here, ta muchly.' There, finally, out they go.

Sam's grin is looking a bit bolder. 'Yep, that's me.'

Gene's frown is perfectly fitting. 'Still humouring me.' Still stroking at his neck, making heat run beneath his skin, heat and pleasure.

'Probably.' That smile again, a little bit softer yet, and even more sad, and Gene knows what's coming next, there's no bloody doubt about it. Sam's hand hasn't stilled, still rubbing up and down along his neck, and when it finally does come to a stop, Sam's hand is curled over Gene's shoulder. Gene, I...'

'Bloody hell – what now?' What now? He knows what it is, and it seems another standard he needs to keep to, making Sam open his mouth and spill the beans. If Sam's going to turn this into something, if he's going to let the guilt rear its ugly head – well, that's all on Sam himself. Gene's got nothing to do with it.

Been trying to keep his mouth shut about the subject, how is it Sam just can't do the same?

His shoulders stoop a bit, he lowers his head, hides the look on his face, the shadows in his eyes – another shift, but this one's hardly subtle. 'I'm sorry. I should have been more careful, you...' What? Because then none of this would have happened? Of course none of it would have happened, but that doesn't mean it needs to be _said_.

'Shit, Sam – just trim me hair, and we can call it even. I know you didn't plan on any of this sodding mess happening, you daft little prick.'

A little grin, one that turns to Sam nipping nervously at his lower lip. His hand comes up, as well, rubs at his cheek. 'Still, I...'

Gene scowls at Sam's reflection, feels like his face will split in half. 'Zip it. Not another bloody word, sod it all, Sam.' Sam, though, all he does is stare back, not scowling, just frowning, and Gene knows it's going to be another fight. Not one with words, or fists, just the intensity of their eyes instead.

He still has to make a point here, and more importantly than that, get that across to Sam, make him _understand_ – but what the bloody hell else is he expected to do?

Oh – he knows just what, and it should work a treat.

Not saying another word, letting the silence speak for him instead – that and the act of _touch_ – Gene reaches up, grabs for Sam's hand, squeezes it where it was still curled about Gene's shoulder. Sam's eyes widen, just slightly, the frown dissipating, showing his confusion instead.

'Gene...'

'S'alright, Sammy-boy – you've apologised, you've apologised even more on top of that, and I'm sure it hasn't slipped your mind, but you've bloody well been waiting on me hand and foot. What else do I need to let you do just to get it through that thick skull of yours that I've forgiven you, it's in the bloody past now – well?'

Sam blinks, tilts his head to the side. He reaches up, rubs at his neck with his free hand, dropping that arm to his side, squeezing at Gene's hand with the one that had been otherwise detained.

Then he nods, and smiles – just a faint little one, a glimmer of dust in sunlight, but Gene supposes it's a start. 'Right. Okay. Just trimming your hair.'

'Good boy.'

He starts to loosen his hold on Sam's hand, only then his lips are twisting back down with the weight of a frown.

'Still, I...'

'Shut it, Sam – just shut it.' Gene scowls, scowls like his face just isn't splitting, but breaking apart, squeezes at Sam's hand like he means to bruise it. Sam must get the it then, because he winces, though he doesn't go so far as to try to pull away. Daft lad, maybe he thinks he even deserves that, stuck in a pool of guilt as he is.

'Got your attention then, Gladys?'

Sam nods, doesn't say a thing.

'Good. Now, since you're good and quiet already, what I need you to do is just continue on with keeping your bloody trap _closed_.' Hesitantly, Sam nods, and Gene continues on. 'The subject has been beaten to a sodding pulp. You did not mean to open the door on my face – you certainly didn't mean to knock me down the bloody stairs. Do you feel bad enough about this yet, or do I need to rub it in a bit more? That I only broke an arm and a leg, and if you'd tried a bit harder, maybe I could have broken my neck as well.'

It had been dark, they'd been trying to pin down a suspect before he managed to run away, Gene had been on his way upstairs, and Sam there already, and sometimes – well, sometimes you just encounter a bit of bad luck. That's all it was.

One last tight squeeze of his hand, then Gene is jerking it forward, planting a kiss on the back of it. 'You got it?'

Still looking at Sam's reflection, feels the heat of his body in that sliver of space where they're pressed together, and Sam nods. Smiles, maybe still a bit sad, but certainly less so. He tugs Gene's hand back up to his mouth, presses one kiss to the back of it, turns it over slowly, another kiss pressed to the skin of his palm. 'I... that's good, s'alright, no need to add that part in... Thanks.'

'Blimey – you're welcome.' He huffs on a laugh, Sam's smile brightening a bit more at the sound of it. He lets Gene's hands go, or maybe Gene's the one to let go first, but then Sam's reaching for the comb and picking it up, goes about running it through Gene's hair, knows he needs to get back to it.

'Need some paracetamol?' Sam glances at his watch. 'Not quite time for the good stuff yet.'

Gene grunts, shakes his head. Could do with one or the other, but the aching's a dull now, and the itching... well, the itching's never gonna stop, not until he gets the bloody cast removed. 'Ah, m'good.'

'Right. How about food, what would you like me to make for dinner?'

'Hmmmm.' Gene shakes his head, all thoughtful-like, then grins. Sam raises an eyebrow in question, staring down at him, then looking up to meet his gaze in the mirror.

'Well?'

'Roast – one with all the trimmings. And a proper pudding as well.'

Sam huffs on one more pathetically small laugh, rolls his eyes and drops the comb back onto the table. 'Your wish is my command.'

Snip, snip, snip, just like that, he's got the scissors in his hand and Sam's back to trimming his hair. Gene smirks at their joined reflection, knows he might not be king of the world, not even the city like he'd sometimes like, but at least he knows he's king of this house, that and the DI who's mostly taken up residence inside it.

And, well, that's certainly good enough for him. 'See, you're finally talking sense, Sammy-boy. Bloody hell, it took you long enough.'

'I've also still got a pair of scissors in my hand, Guv.' That, and a very devious look on his face, all grimly grinning. Light catches on one steel edge, flashes brightly, and Gene supposes the point's been made.

'Prick.'

'Yep, that's me.'

'And bloody hell, you're still humouring me!'

'Always, Guv – always.' He leans forward, kisses the crown of Gene's head. 'Now, if you'd kindly shut your trap, I've got some work to do.'

Gene shuts his mouth, and frowns, and Sam's eyes brighten as grins, the scissors continuing to go snip, snip, _snip_.


End file.
